I am in my second year of law school. I am wandering around a mall parking lot an hour away from my apartment.
My last final is tomorrow. Law school finals are their own peculiar brand of terror. You go to class, read the texts, brief cases, and study day and night (this is the forth cliche I have used in this sentence and frankly I am tired of changing it, sorry. For posterity, I went from “like it is going out of style,” “like there is no tomorrow,” to “a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,” before settling.) You are then graded entirely on one three-hour essay exam. These grades determine your entire future and current self worth.
Before Wendy rats me out, and for the sake of truth (but mostly as a preemptive rat strike), I actually do not go to class, read texts, brief cases, or study like it is going out of style. Law school is actually a really relaxing time. My professors hate me. “Who is Whitacre?” “Why does he pay tuition if he is not going to show up for class?” “How dare he?” These are some of the things my bemused classmates relay to me.
But finals are another matter. I have to make up for the fact that I know nothing about the subject. I study for 18 hours a day for the days proceeding the final. So far, this crazy method has worked really well for me. I chose a law school that enforced anonymous grading so the fact that my professors do not like me has not hurt my grades. But going from a state of unpreparedness to preparation in three days stresses me out. I don’t realize it until I find myself in situations like the one I am in now.
First semester of my first year, I was hit with a strange desire. I was pouring over my classmate’s torts notes. Wendy was in the other room watching a movie. I crept from our bedroom into the bathroom. I turned on the fan to cover the noise I was about to make. I turned on my electric razor. I rolled up my pant leg.
Unthinkingly, I began to shave my leg. Here, is where it gets weird. (No, seriously. You may have thought that it was already weird, and well, it was, but it gets a whole lot weirder.) I shave the outline of a perfect shinguard into my leg. I then shave a matching one into my other leg. I roll down my pant legs and continue my study. After finals end, I wear a pair of shorts for the first time. Wendy is not impressed.
The second semester of first year I make a similar escape into the apartment bathroom. I use the same razor to shave my head bald. It is a look. A horrid, ugly, terrible look. The thought to shave my eyebrows invades my now bald head. Luckily, my stupid reflection jolts me back into reality and I stop myself.
This year, Wendy is watching the bathroom like a hawk with binoculars after lasik surgery. (Not right after, mind you, when its eyesight is still blurry, but after it has recovered and has even more awesome sight. Just so we are on the same page.) And honestly, I don’t have much of a desire to pick up a razor after the last fiasco.
So instead, I decide to go buy shoes. Okay, shoe shopping, I went shoe shopping, have it your way. I stumble from store to store, and leave after two hours of not being able to focus on anything other than my impending white collar crime final. I exit the mall and look for my car. I walk to where I parked.
And find that my car is gone. As in, not there.
A "Mad Men"/vintage inspired shoot with my sister Eve's family.
BLUE LILY | Lifestyle Photographer | Salt Lake City, Utah